Pairing: Negan x Reader, Daryl x Reader

Gender: F x M

Word Count: 1,710

Warnings: Swearing (it’s Negan mahn what do you expect), violence, major character death, innuendo, implied smut towards the end.

Summary: Reader (Tori) stood up to Negan and is taken back to the Sanctuary with Daryl, only Negan takes an interest in her.

Author’s Note: Okay I was supposed to do more Daryl x Reader but I got a tad bit carried away with JDM. Enjoy, and if any of you have requests please submit them:)

Originally posted by werewolvesxo

Originally posted by curious-tales-of-daryl-dixon


  Blood splattered across your pale skin; the stench of copper and death filling your nostrils until you couldn’t stand to breathe anymore. Cries of protest and sorrow could be distinguished coming from all directions as the bat beat down again and again on Glenn’s corpse, the body directly next to you, laid on the cold dirt. He already brutalised Abraham as a way of punishment for killing a bunch of his men but the pain was still there.

  You were confused, angry, sad, mournful as Negan, the psychopath who did this, chuckled to himself, blood and brains staining his precious bat as he stepped away to admire his work. Your hands were clenched by your sides, knuckles white, shaking uncontrollably as you mustered a glare at the man.

  He caught your eye and grinned, pointing the bat towards your face so you were eye level with the gore. “Come on, why the fuck are you giving me that look, huh?” Glenn’s blood dripped onto your pants, staining the dark material. You winced at the sight, pulling yourself away from the weapon as Negan chuckled to himself. He gestured towards you with the bat, looking directly at Rick. You’ve never seen him look as broken as he did right then, kneeling in the dirt staring blankly in front him, powerless to do anything to save anyone. “Now, who the fuck is she and where the fuck have you been hiding her? You keeping her to yourself, Rick?” He crouched down in front of you so you were at eye level, his smirking face a few inches from yours.

  The temptation was difficult to resist. It was a bad idea and you know it would cost your life, but you did it anyway.

  You punched him square in the face, making him fall back from the unexpected impact. Almost immediately, you were tackled to the ground by one of the men who was pointing his gun at your head beforehand, his arm digging painfully into your back while the other held your hands to the ground. Grainy dirt was forced into your mouth as your face was smothered into it, the taste tainting your tongue.

  “Now,” you heard Negan laugh, “that lady has some fucking balls. God, the bitch made me bleed!” It was deathly quiet for a moment and you were ready to feel the impact of Lucille on your head, but it didn’t come. “Get her in the fucking truck,” he ordered. You felt yourself being dragged across the dirt on your knees before being thrown harshly into the back of a vehicle, the door slamming shut behind you.

  “Tori?” a hoarse voice made itself shown. You turned your head and saw Daryl in the corner looking hurt and tired, a blanket wrapped around his shoulders, concealing the bullet wound Dwight inflicted upon him. He shifted closer to your shaking form. “Who was it?” he added, seeing your tear-streaked face.

  “Abraham and Glenn,” you said, coughing violently and wiping your friend’s blood from your hands with the bottom of your tank top. “The bastard killed them.”

  Just remembering the scent of blood being so strong, you could almost taste it and it gave you a sudden urge to throw up, and you did so. Your body convulsed on all fours as you wretched violently, emptying the contents of your stomach in the corner until the tears couldn’t stop escaping you.

  A comforting hand was placed gently above yours, squeezing as if trying to rid the pain. “Why are you here?” Daryl asked in a soft voice. “What did you do?”

  You let out a dry laugh, clearing your throat as your crawled to Daryl, interlacing your fingers. “I hit him,” you answered.

  He didn’t answer you right away, instead he dragged you closer to him. His arms wrapped around your waist and you rested your head on his shoulder – the uninjured one – wiping your face in the blanket he wrapped around you both. He held you tightly, not wanting to let go.

  “You shouldn’t have done that,” he whispered, his warm breath hitting your forehead.

  “I know,” was the only reply you could come up with.

  It was until a few hours later – the sun had just risen – when you saw Negan again, smiling smugly to himself as he took in yours and Daryl’s position. Your head was still resting on his shoulder and the urge to close your eyes and sleep kept consuming you, but you stayed awake. After a few hours, his arm started to feel numb so you settled for simply holding both of his hands, resting them on your lap.

  “Aren’t you two just fucking adorable,” Negan smirked to himself, climbing into the driver’s seat with his right hand man, Dwight, in the passenger’s. “Best not to get too comfortable back there. We’re going on a trip.”

  He drove for hours, making remarks about your group to Dwight. It angered both you and Daryl but you held your tongues, knowing what this man was capable of.

  “Hey, er… What’s her fucking name?” Negan spoke, looking back at you and Daryl.

  “It’s Tori,” Dwight told the man.

  “Right, Tori.” Your name coming from his lips repulsed you, it made your insides wither and crawl. “When we get back you and I are gonna have a long fucking chat about obedience and shit, since you obviously know fuck all about it.” Daryl squeezed your hands tightly. “I can teach you a few other things, too.” He winked at you, his innuendo making you want to throw up again. You needed nothing more than to shove a hatchet into his skull at that very moment.

  You and Daryl were separated as soon as you reached the Sanctuary; Daryl being dragged by Dwight and throwing him into some kind of cell while Negan grabbed you by your upper arm, taking you into a different building.

  The room he took you in was nice. A king-sized bed, sheets included, is placed in the centre of the room with a small table next to it. You couldn’t help but notice the small pocket knife underneath of the pillows, tempting you to grab it and drive it into Negan’s skull.

  Instead, you stood with your back pressed into the far corner of the room, trying to keep your distance between yourself and him while still observing his every move. He carefully leaned his bat, a piece of flesh hanging from the barbed wire making you feel sick once again, against the wall. He took his leather jacket off, leaving him in a plain white shirt.

  His brown eyes met yours, seeing your gaze glued on him. “You like the fucking view, doll?” he teased, sitting down at the foot of the bed. He patted the empty space next to him, adding, “Sit down. You and me are gonna have a nice little chat.”

  Reluctantly, you did so. You attempted to keep the space between you large but Negan shifted closer to you, his forearms resting on his knees as he turned his head to face you.

  Taking a deep breath in, you kept your gaze focused on the white painted wall in front of you.

   “You know what?” he said, shaking his head in silent laughter. “I fucking like you, I really do. Might not seem like it now, but I think we’re gonna become best fucking buddies real soon. I can see that happening.” He leaned his face closer to yours and you had to grip the sheets to stop yourself from hitting him again. “You humiliated me in front of my men, disobeyed the fuck out of me and let me tell you something, I do not appreciate that, not one fucking bit.” He shook his head again, eyes glued onto your face as you stared blankly ahead. “You’ve got more balls than the entire group fucking combined, I’ll give you that. It’s why I’ve taken you back here with that fucking redneck.”

 A scoff escaped your lips. “You think we’re going to work for you?” you asked him. “After what you did?” you licked your suddenly dry lips, turning your head to meet his steady stare. “Yeah, we killed your men, a lot of them if I’m being honest. I get why it would piss you off, cause you to lash out, because if anyone even tried that with our group, and many have, we would’ve wiped them out. You didn’t care about your men, you only cared about the fact you had strong numbers. Tell me this, did you ever have a nice chat with any of them? Did you know if they had a family or not, did you know what their favourite colour was, or even what they did in their spare time?” Noting his silence, you continued with, “Glenn and Abraham weren’t just another number in our group, they were family. We looked out for each other and not because we were forced to but because we love – loved – each other. Abraham was strong, you knew as soon as he got his ass back to Alexandria, he would plan a counter attack and kill you.” His cocky expression shifted, but you couldn’t quite tell into what. “You’re nothing but a fucking pussy.”

  You kept your eyes locked with his as he took in your words. After a few moments, he let out a low chuckle, moving from his place on the bed to kneel in front of you. “You should watch that pretty fucking mouth of yours before I put it to good use,” his voice was low, eyes darkening as he looked up at you, biting his lip. His bare hands traced over your jean-clad thighs, his thumbs rubbing small circles as they moved higher, the tank top you wore dragging up your body as his hands cautiously touched your bare stomach, as if testing your limits.

  When his fingers brushed the bottom of your ribs, you pulled yourself together and gripped his forearms, prying them away from your body.

  “Fucking tease,” he groaned, pulling his hands away from yours. He stood back up, tossing his leather jacket back on before grabbing Lucille. “Don’t do anything stupid.”

  The door slammed shut behind him.

Twas the night before Christmas an’ all t'ru de house,
Dey don’t a ting pass Not even a mouse.
De chirren been nezzle good snug on de flo’,
An’ Mama pass de pepper t'ru de crack on de do’.

De Mama in de fireplace done roas’ up de ham,
Sit up de gumbo an’ make de bake yam.
Den out on de by-you dey got such a clatter,
Make soun’ like old Boudreau done fall off his ladder.

I run like a rabbit to got to de do’,
Trip over de dorg an’ fall on de flo’.
As I look out de do'in de light o’ de moon,
I t'ink, “Mahn, you crazy or got ol’ too soon.”

Cux dere on de by-you w'en I stretch ma'neck stiff,
Dere’s eight alligator a pullin’ de skiff.
An’ a little fat drover wit’ a long pole-ing stick,
I know r'at away got to be ole St.Nick.

Mo’ fas'er an’ fas'er de’ gator dey came
He whistle an’ holler an’ call dem by name:
“Ha, Gaston! Ha, Tiboy! Ha, Pierre an’ Alcee’!
Gee, Ninette! Gee, Suzette! Celeste an'Renee’!

To de top o’ de porch to de top o’ de wall,
Make crawl, alligator, an’ be sho’ you don’ fall.”
Like Tante Flo’s cat t'ru de treetop he fly,
W'en de big ole houn’ dorg come a run hisse’s by.

Like dat up de porch dem ole ‘gator clim!
Wit’ de skiff full o’ toy an’ St. Nicklus behin’.
Den on top de porch roof it soun’ like de hail,
W'en all dem big gator, done sot down dey tail.

Den down de chimney I yell wit’ a bam,
An’ St.Nicklus fall an’ sit on de yam.
“Sacre!” he axclaim, “Ma pant got a hole
I done sot ma'se'f on dem red hot coal.”

He got on his foots an’ jump like de cat
Out to de flo’ where he lan’ wit’ a SPLAT!
He was dress in musk-rat from his head to his foot,
An’ his clothes is all dirty wit’ ashes an’ soot.

A sack full o’ playt'ing he t'row on his back,
He look like a burglar an’ dass fo’ a fack.
His eyes how dey shine his dimple, how merry!
Maybe he been drink de wine from de blackberry.

His cheek was like a rose his nose a cherry,
On secon’ t'ought maybe he lap up de sherry.
Wit’ snow-white chin whisker an’ quiverin’ belly,
He shook w'en he laugh like de stromberry jelly!

But a wink in his eye an’ a shook o’ his head,
Make my confi-dence dat I don’t got to be scared.
He don’ do no talkin’ gone strit to hi work,
Put a playt'ing in sock an’ den turn wit’ a jerk.

He put bot’ his han’ dere on top o’ his head,
Cas’ an eye on de chimney an’ den he done said:
“Wit’ all o’ dat fire an’ dem burnin’ hot flame,
Me I ain’ goin’ back by de way dat I came.”

So he run out de do’ an, he clim’ to de roof,
He ain’ no fool, him for to make one more goof.
He jump in his skiff an’ crack his big whip,
De’ gator move down, An don’ make one slip.

This plays on the radio at least one a week in December.


Similar to the Amnesia Memories one I did but not really???

I have played all the routes in Hakuouki this time around; and this is basically me spewing shit about these characters who I am attached to.

Personally I prefer the Amnesia one I did (I actually kinda really like this one tbh) but these are fucking fun to do mahn. Also don’t kill me; this is just for fun and it’s been awhile since I’ve played all the routes

anonymous asked:

Your such a Grammy Nazi of your home country's name. Colombia, Columbia, cucumber, cumberbach, its all the same mahn. Lighten up my dude. We all love you.

I love you too anon, but no, fuck you.

It’s Colombia


La información está dispersa y, en ocasiones, es contradictoria. Es uno mismo el que tiene que construir el texto, como si fuera un DJ, montando las diversas páginas en un orden, cortando, pegando y reestructurándolo todo. Conocer, más que nunca, se ha convertido en un acto de montaje.

Miguel Ángel Hernández (@mahn). Intento de escapada

Foto: Agatha Christie